


Redeeming a Conqueror

by Team_Two_Cats



Series: Suikovember 2020 [7]
Category: Suikoden I, Suikoden Series (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Magic, Mind Control, This is actually really fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27683771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Team_Two_Cats/pseuds/Team_Two_Cats
Summary: Suikovember 2020 Day 23 Prompt: RedemptionMilich finds he can't enjoy the finest things in life as memories of his time under the conqueror's rune return and he is left questioning if the story they've all told about his guilt is true or not. So he seeks out the one person who might understand to talk it through--Kwanda Rosman.
Series: Suikovember 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019115





	Redeeming a Conqueror

Milich excuses himself from the garden, much to the protestations of Vincent and Esmeralda. But his mood is black, and he has no smiles to the gentle music, or for the aroma of roses on the air. No sigh of deepest pleasure at the delicate foods brought for their pleasure, nor hearty laugh at the wit of his friends and lovers.

No, his mood is as black as the conqueror rune that once darkened his hand. Which, it turns out, is largely the cause of his melancholy. A headache, he tells the others. A migraine. But the truth is that it’s memories that are ailing him. That keep him from enjoying the fine things he loves. He walks with an easy sway until he knows he out of sight and then slumps, trudges across the cliffs and into the castle. Perhaps he could wash away his sorrows with a bath. Perhaps a trip to the cellars for some wine. He deflates further, each step dragging his feet forward. No. No no no no. None of it will do.

Those would all be…retreats. And Milich Oppenheimer never retreats. He takes a deep breath, drawing himself up straight. He needs to think. To consider. He needs…a second opinion. Yes! Of course! He’s kicked around the same tired thoughts because despite being an intellect without peer, he only has himself to work through the problem. And another, no matter how rudimentary their tastes, are bound to bring a perspective that a man of refinement such as himself could utilize and improve upon. Sometimes a rose could grow so big, so beautiful, so fast, that it strained its stem. But if it leaned on another rose, no matter how lesser its qualities, it could stay in the sun.

But…he scowls. These are just any feelings to share with a passing stranger. No, not even with his friend and lovers. He needs someone who understands what it means. Who can offer an opinion informed by the full weight of what he has done. And that leaves just one man he can talk to. He turns, and walks quickly through the castle.

Kwanda is where he always is, surrounded by the other bores who are converts from Barbarosa’s army. But while Kasim and Sonya might understand some about having fought against the liberating army, they not only did so only of their own free will, but never compromised themselves, never did anything truly terrible. And Leon, there as well…well, is just a frightful and dreadful man whom Milich sees no need to engage with. Milich makes direct for Kwanda and bows low to his long-time ally.

“My friend!” Milich says. “I wonder if I might have word with you in private. I find the need to unburden myself and I fear you’re the only one who can help.”

“Hey now, hold on a second,” Kwanda says, instantly going red in the face. “Shouldn’t you be seeing the doctor about that, rather than telling me? I’ll have no part of you… _unburdening_ yourself around me, thanks.”

Milich draws his mouth into an even line. “You misunderstand me,” he says. “I would like to discuss with you a matter of some…delicacy. If you would come with me?”

Kwanda gives him a long look, but finally shrugs. “Yeah okay.”

They move to an alcove not far away with a cliffside view of Toran Lake. Milich walks to the edge and inhales deeply. He instantly regrets it as the smell of saltwater and fish rise up to meet him from the rocks below.

“So what do you want to talk about?” Kwanda asks.

“The conqueror runes,” Milich says plainly, not wanting the man to misunderstand further. “I want to know if…if you remember what you did while under its control.”

Kwanda’s eyes widen. “I didn’t remember anything afterward.”

“Yes, _directly_ afterward,” Milich says. “The same as me. But…I’ve been starting to remember. In fits and bits. In dreams and in waking nightmares. I am _remembering_ , and I am not sure if those memories belong to me, or to someone else, or if it even matters.”

“Of course it matters,” Kwanda hisses. “And of course it wasn’t you. Just like it wasn’t _me._ Do you think I would have…would have destroyed an entire town? T-tried to commit genocide?”

“These are the questions at the heart of my worries,” Milich says. “I don’t believe they are actions that you would willingly engage in. Nor do I think that I would casually breed a kind of flower capable of killing so very many people. Or try to murder people with spores of agony.”

“Then you should put your mind at ease,” Kwanda says. “It wasn’t us.”

“ _And yet_ ,” Milich says, “I am struck that it could have been no one else but us to author these atrocities.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“I mean that while these don’t seem the kinds of things that we would do, it’s unescapable that we were the only ones who could have pulled them off. And before you claim that I am being arrogant, I will remind you that designing a deadly flower to poison thousands of people, perhaps tens of thousands, is a rare skillset. There are only a few alive who could have managed it, and none of them are currently anywhere near the empire. No, that was me, regardless of whether I wanted to do it. It was my skills, my mind, my abilities. Does it matter if it was not also my _will_?”

Kwanda blinks.

“So you see the dilemma. I am…haunted. By what I have done. What I must have done, even though I did not mean to do it. I have been told, it is not my fault, because I was not in control. Only…I remember now, as I assume you must as well. And…I wasn’t aware I was being controlled. The changes, oh, they seem so obvious looking back on them. The memories I lost went back months, from before the war even started. But the change was so gradual. It wasn’t that Windy took over my mind from the start. She…corrupted me. But what blame do I hold, for have been so corrupted?”

“But we couldn’t fight against it,” Kwanda says. “Yes, I remember now, too, and I remember the way I could…at first I could resist the influence of the rune. Oh, I welcomed the _power_ of it. But I didn’t start hunting kobolds for sport. Didn’t even find myself working against them until much later. I…My intentions were always good.”

“And is that enough?” Milich asks. “Is your sleep unbothered? Do you look at your hands and find them clean?”

“I am a soldier,” Kwanda says. “My hands haven’t been clean for a long, long time. What I concentrate on now is what to do next. How to win _this_ war. How to convince Barbarossa of the evil of Windy. He must be under her power as well. He took a black rune from her as well.”

“I wonder…” Milich says. But despite Kwanda’s clumsiness, his bluntness, his graceless efforts to justify himself…there’s something there which Milich can use. Of course there is. Just as Milich anticipated. “But you’re right about one thing. We were none of us ever blameless. Ever completely _redeemed_. Had Barbarossa lost our first war, we would all be hanged as traitors. Perhaps it’s not the feelings I need concern myself with. Perhaps it’s the outcome. Of the war, and our involvement in it.”

“You’re saying as long as the ends justify the means,” Kwanda says.

Milich snorts. “I’d never say something so trite and predictable. No, not as long as the ends justify the means. Rather, as long as we are the ones writing the history books. As long as we are victorious in the end, we can cement our own redemption arcs. We can _live_ , and through our lives we can offer the coda needed to gain forgiveness for what we were a part of, however unwillingly.”

“So…we fake it?”

Milich rolls his eyes. “The problem with authenticity is that it’s impossible to know. _We_ did unspeakable things. Our bodies, our minds. Windy told a story through us of tyrants and killers. Tir set us free to write new stories. The world is a stage, Kwanda, and we are all actors. Dancers. But will we follow, or will we lead? If we play the part of the penitent, is that less real than when we played the part of the villain? Or are they both equally real, and all that matters is what we are when the curtain drops?”

“Those we killed might not agree,” Kwanda says.

“But mustn’t they? For the story to be satisfying, mustn’t they forgive us? They must!”

“Not all stories are satisfying,” Kwanda says.

“Then you are not a poet, and have not a poet’s heart. I can see it now, Kwanda. I will retire after this war. I will dedicate myself to the memories of those of us who fought beside Barbarossa. And I will write our story.”

“The truth of it?”

“What is the truth? I will write the _story_ of it, and it will as true as anything ever written. It will be a masterpiece. You’ll see! Oh, thank you Kwanda. You were exactly who I needed to talk to.”

“Then why do I feel worse than before we spoke?”

“No time for that, now,” Milich says, heading back toward his garden. “I must seek inspiration for my art! There’s so much to do!”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't tell if this is a happy ending or a sad ending. I feel like Milich is better able to deal with what happens, and I wanted to work in his work as a novelist. Kwanda, however, I think feels worse after this conversation, but just sort of keeps it to himself, because that's the kind of person he is. Anyway, hope you enjoy!


End file.
